This Dungeon Grew Mushrooms

“Hiss!!!” the dwarf Torin suddenly snapped awake, rubbing his arms as he climbed out of bed. “Haven’t been woken by cold in ages…”

In fact, since bonding with the mycelium he only needed a thin blanket at night; he hadn’t felt cold in a long time.

Muttering “how strange,” Torin opened the dormitory door.

A wall of snow blocked his way.

“…”

The others in the dormitory shivered and climbed out of bed as the door opened.

Torin turned to his lizardfolk friend and asked, “Barlock, you said you’re from the Northern Lizardfolk tribes, right?”

“Used to be,” Barlock corrected.

“So do you ever get heavy snow before summer up north?” Torin pointed at the snow wall outside.

Barlock stepped over and, staring at the half-human-high drifts, shivered and stuck his head out to look around.

“Hmm… I lived slightly farther south. It’s my first time being this far north at this season…”

“Hope they send warm gear by tomorrow or someone’s going to freeze into an ice pop,” Grem cursed as he got up.

They watched the snow keep piling and discussed how to get through to the tunnels to start work.

It wasn’t that they loved labor—everyone knew the burrowing pujis gave off heat when used, and in this weather what had been a miserable job would become a coveted one.

Before they could settle on a plan they heard a far-off cheer of “Praise the boss!” The shouts came closer and closer.

Barlock was the first to poke his head out to see; Torin and Grem could only squint at the snow wall and urge him, “Barlock, tell us what you see!”

“pujis are coming!”

“What?”

“A huge burrowing puji is coming!”

puji—buzz—

The familiar humming was louder than usual.

A shovel cleared a chunk of snow from the window, and the two dwarves finally saw what was happening.

A giant drill-burrow puji, far larger than a Fatty puji, trundled down the street, its engines whining and releasing copious heat into the air.

It moved slowly and steadily, while teams of conscripted laborers like the three of them shoveled snow into the big puji’s open maw on top.

The snow melted the moment it entered; the remaining water drained out the puji’s sides into the subterranean drains.

The only downside was that puddles left behind soon froze into slick ice.

They stared as the snow-clearing convoy passed, then two mushroom-folk with handcarts stopped in front of them.

From the cart they handed each of the three a set of warm fur coats and blankets.

One of the mushroom-folk glanced at the dwarves and said out of habit, “If they don’t fit, make do for two days and then get replacements from logistics. Later remember to collect a small self-heating puji from the puji management office—one per dorm, free to use, but breaking it will deduct contribution points.”

After checking his notebook and ticking their dorm’s box, he moved on.

Grem got lucky—the fur jacket fit.

“Praise the boss! Finally warm,” he sighed as the mushroom-folk walked away. “How did they move so fast? Did he know this cold was coming? If so, why not send it out sooner?”

Barlock shrugged; he had no explanation.

In his old tribe, coal and firewood took one or two days to distribute when cold hit; people froze all the time. It wasn’t normal to have everything handed out the morning after a sudden freeze.

When they stepped outside they found more than one giant burrowing puji melting snow—practically every main street had one.

Since the snow kept falling, the pujis patrolled back and forth on the main roads with dedicated snow teams alongside them.

Of course, some folks followed simply to keep warm, and the snow made the Puji Fort even livelier than usual.

They passed by doors and even the green-skinned vampire had a small burrowing puji near his feet—perhaps a little too close, judging by the screams that sounded suspiciously like someone being scalded.

At the tunnel entrance the digging job had become prized work; a crowd tried to sign up.

“You can’t just come do this only when it’s cold. We need stable workers,” the managing mushroom-folk told the would-be volunteers and sent them away.

Torin and the others breathed easier—their shift wouldn’t be snatched.

After finishing the work, the mushroom-folk called them over. “There’s a new Great Earth Cavern task—need experienced tunnellers. See if you want to join.”

“Great Earth Cavern?”

…

Lin Jun was swamped.

He was working around the clock producing giant, medium, and small models of burrowing pujis while organizing emergency missions.

The “Great Earth Cavern” referred to hunting down the runaway Frenzied Spirit.

Once it sank underground it disappeared, but it directly affected the entire North’s climate.

Fortunately Lin Jun’s [Cold Resistance] had already reached LV9; otherwise they might have been wiped out, or at least everyone would be holed up keeping warm and the Puji Fort would grind to a halt.

Even so, allowing that thing to run rampant couldn’t continue.

Although it had slipped beyond Lin Jun’s perception, the change in underground mana flow revealed its location.

Lin Jun planned to tunnel down to it. A single LV71 elemental spirit wasn’t unbeatable for his current strength—but the question was how many losses it would cost.

The “Great Earth Cavern” task wasn’t the highest priority; the rescue missions were.

The Puji Fort and the recently allied tribes had pujis and some means of heat, but the other northern tribes didn’t enjoy such resources.

Their temperatures hadn’t dropped as severely yet, and they could still use firewood, but if cold persisted food would dwindle and they wouldn’t hold out long.

If they were Empire demons, Lin Jun wouldn’t care about them freezing or starving.

But these were future members of the Northern Alliance.

Every life lost equaled twenty pujis worth of loss.

That was unacceptable.

So under Lin Jun’s organization, puji rescue teams set out from his allied tribes one after another to aid the surrounding settlements.